


The Planet of Banadir

by nan00k



Series: Small World [8]
Category: Supernatural, Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angels, Demons, Possession, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 06:33:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6843115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nan00k/pseuds/nan00k
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prowl has seen many things, evil and worse, throughout the cosmos. The planet of Banadir leaves him wondering if there’s even more out there, especially after encountering a creature calling itself Balthazar.</p><p>(AU SuperFormers fic. Part of the <i>Small World</i> series.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Planet of Banadir

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  Small World  
> “The Planet of Banadir”  
> By Nan00k
> 
> I live! Yes, this series is still active. Just not my top priority. Thank you guys for sticking around! It's such a fun crossover to work with. :)
> 
> Someone had asked me before how I could bridge _Transformers_ into the paranormal realms of _Supernatural_ , _Good Omens_ and even _Doctor Who_. Well, here it is, y’all.
> 
> On a far-away planet, long ago, a desperate military commander makes a deal with something far more dangerous than a demon. Time for a ghost story.
> 
> \----  
> Disclaimers: Transformers © Hasbro/Dreamworks. Supernatural © Kripke/CW.  
> Warnings: descriptive violence, science(-fiction), descriptions of demon possession, massive cross-over, alternative-universe for multiple fandoms  
> \----

 

 **Planet 59-A  
** **Orbiting G-class star in the Odun Sector  
** **17.3 Light Years from Cybertron**

Approximately four megavorns after the launch of the _Ark_ that took Optimus Prime’s elite force to hunt down the missing All Spark and find salvation for their dying world, a lonely Autobot scouting unit was on the shuttle  _Guildhorn_ to investigate an anomaly in the Odun Sector.

The official mission was struck from public record on account of a series of events deemed inappropriate for widespread access. Only the members of the unit and their commanding officers were permitted to carry the abridged classified files.

Only a very small number of them ever heard the full story.

Only First Tactical Commander Prowl knew the true story.

**0000**

It was called Banadir. The name was from the archaic language of the race that once lived there, before its sun drew colder and left the planet inhospitable to the organic race. It meant _hollows_ , according to Prowl’s records.

With the armada encroaching on the Odun cluster and the Decepticon stronghold that kept the hospitable collection of asteroids from Autobot hands, Prowl had narrowed down the closest presumed-Decepticon outposts in that region of space. The idea was to flank their enemies through taking out the forwarding bases directly while the main Autobot armada centered on the Odun cluster itself.

His team, on the _Guildhorn_ , had aimed for Banadir first, as it had the most promise of Decepticon insurgents. It was an ideal planet for Cybertronian forces to occupy, despite most of its terrain being made up of non-Cybertronian-friendly mountain ranges. The only directly hospitable landing site, a valley filled with deep ravines and cave structures, was an obvious location for a Decepticon base of operations.

Prowl had expected to find their enemies immediately upon being dropped off by the _Guildhorn_ alongside the remains of an ancient river bed that had cut deep into the crust of the planet. The shuttle would return in two orns, since the atmosphere’s electromagnetic field made communications between the ship and the surface difficult.

Red sun perpetually low on the horizon, Prowl had ordered his team to spread out carefully and try to pick up any signal of Decepticon communications on the surface. They had to narrow down where their enemy was and Prowl, specifically, had to calculate their chances of success against them in combat. If the Decepticons numbered greatly, he would be forced to issue a retreat.

There was nothing on the scanners at first. Prowl was patient and instead of barreling ahead across the reddish, shadowed landscape, he ordered they make camp in the cover of part of the cliffs that led down to the ravine. There was an old settlement from the original natives of Banadir, according to Perceptor, that gave them additional shelter.

Everything was still and quiet. Almost too much so.

Staring across the dusty, blackened planet, Prowl considered what was presented before him.

He kept his attention of the incoming scanner results. There was no life in that section of the planet, organic or inorganic. Perceptor’s initial pre-mission read-outs suggested that the planet truly was post-dynamic, without any further native lifeforms to compete with invading aliens. The stillness of the planet was oddly discomforting as well.

It was a strange place from the very start. It was also entirely devoid of the quarry he and his team had been seeking.

His team was more disappointed than he was that they did not stumble across a Decepticon outpost. The warriors, like Brawn and Trailbreaker, complained of non-action. Perceptor, their lead scientist, was too busy inspecting the environment to share those complaints. Even Bluestreak, a gentle spark in nature, did not seem happy to have come that far to the burnt out world and find nothing but ruins.

“So much for ‘Cons,” Brawn said, kicking over one of the ancient rocks. It fell to the charred dirt and rolled away toward the shadows of the settlement ruins.

“The readouts had been inconsistent before we embarked for this place,” Perceptor said, without expressing the same dissatisfaction. “If anything, we have at least confirmed there is nothing to worry about in this sector.”

“Shockwave abandoned everything outside of Odun a mega-vorn ago. We were hunting nothing but particles,” Trailbreaker complained. He flinched and inclined his helm toward Prowl when their commander looked back at them. “Sir.”

Prowl stood up straight to gaze out at the blackened structure that crumbled around them.

“Perceptor is correct. This was not in vain. We have confirmed that the Decepticon outpost we had been expecting does not exist and we can now focus our resources on more productive endeavors,” he said. He turned to his team and nodded. “We will continue to explore this area carefully. Take a moment to adjust your maps and prepare to move out shortly.”

“Aye, Commander,” a chorus said, with mechs moving out to secure their position and readjust the maps earlier scans had given them before landing.

That left Prowl standing at the mouth of the small dwelling alone. He considered the environment and the threat that now did not exist there. The planet would have been a good choice for Shockwave, who preferred distant planets that were devoid of interfering lifeforms. The planet’s status as post-dynamic would have given Shockwave better cover, with less prying eyes from other space-faring beings like Autobots.

Why, then, was it empty? The volcanic activity had nearly ceased, especially in the sector they were in. The sun posed no threat to Cybertronian life. It was close to known Decepticon energon mining outposts. It was far enough away from the battle that Shockwave would have had few reasons to ignore this place. The planet was still rich with deep-core energon reserves, according to Perceptor.

Prowl frowned at the fading light on the murky horizon, where jagged mountains surrounded the plains. His battle computer fought to reason with that turn of events they were faced with. A puzzling, illogical mystery that could have held greater importance to understanding his nemesis’ next actions.

“Prowl?” a mech asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“Yes, Bluestreak?” he answered turning to face the sniper.

Bluestreak came up closer, but stopped two steps away out of respect. “Why did you call us all out here?” he asked, his doorwings going up and down nervously.

“The threat of a Decepticon outpost this close to our forward armada was too dangerous to ignore,” Prowl said, thinking that was an obvious answer.

“No, sir, I meant…” Bluestreak tilted his helm. His blue optics were already covered in ash that drifted in the wind. “You certainly did not have to come with us. Why not just send Mirage? Or even Hound to lead a scout team?”

Interesting questions coming from a mech not known for critical analysis.

“It seemed more prudent that I lead the scouting party to ensure that all available data was received and translated into logistics was seamless. We were hunting dangerous enemies. I needed to know the information was sound,” Prowl said, looking back to the ruins.

It had also incredibly likely that Shockwave had not abandoned Odun’s neighboring worlds. Finding and destroying the Decepticon elite had been a priority for Prowl. He had wanted to make sure the incoming team had been properly prepared for that possibility. Mirage and Hound, despite being excellent soldiers, were ill-equipped for that sort of encounter.

Instead of being insulted by any insinuation that their teammates were incapable of handing their jobs alone, Bluestreak tilted his helm. He was very used to his commander’s manner of speaking. “But sir, I thought you said that Shockwave would not be here anyway. Why would you need to be so thorough for just another ‘Con outpost?”

The wary curiosity and obvious concern was understandable. Bluestreak was young, but he was unfortunately an experienced soldier. He had grown used to Prowl’s leadership and probably saw irregularities when they did appear in Prowl’s planning. For the most part, Prowl appreciated the questioning. Mechs might have seen him as too controlling because of his unemotional personality, but he did in fact want valid outside opinions, particularly from the lives he was gambling. Perspective was a gift he rarely wasted.

Still, it was not another soldier asking him that. It was Bluestreak. Prowl considered the younger mech and the possible responses he could give him.

“We cannot be too careful, Bluestreak,” he said, speaking deliberately. “If Shockwave left any reliable clues here about his next base of operations… I would prefer to see it myself first.”

“Oh.” Bluestreak’s door-wings went down slightly. He nodded. “I understand, sir.”

The mech did understand. Prowl knew he did. Both had been natives of the city-state of Praxus when Shockwave’s total war initiatives had utterly destroyed their home. While Prowl did not allow concepts of revenge distract him as one of the Autobot’s chief strategists, he did allow himself the priority of hunting the mech down who had nearly caused a genocide of his people. Shockwave, now and then, was too dangerous of an enemy to ignore.

Venting a quiet sigh, Prowl gazed out at the barren world. He had truly hoped to catch something there as a sign that his strategic hunch was correct. It was a waste of resources, but he supposed finding out for certain justified the trip regardless.

“This place is miserable, is it not?” he asked, almost surprising himself.

“Very, sir,” Bluestreak said. He shifted, visibly uncomfortable. “It is too quiet.”

“Indeed.” Prowl turned and motioned with his hand. “Let us move to proper cover.”

They came upon their companions by the settlement still. Perceptor had taken time to start analyzing the ancient structure while the other two seemed intent on browsing the rubble themselves.

“We will be waiting for the _Guildhorn_ ’s return,” Prowl said, loud enough for them all to hear. “In the meanwhile, we will take advantage of scouting further down the ravine for further signs of alien incursion.”

“Aye, sir,” Trailbreaker said. He then turned to Brawn, who was peering curiously at the old settlement. “Primus, this stuff is old, huh?”

“Not terribly, but be careful with moving specimens,” Perceptor said, frowning at the other mechs as he handled a smaller sample of rock with more precise care. Brawn scoffed and ignored the scientist.

Bluestreak aimed to step over some of the rocks, but managed to knock part of a wall over. Prowl’s gaze snapped to him and then to the others, who were poking and prodding the structure. He understood their curiosity; organic lifeforms were rare and they also had been cooped up in the ship for long enough. The sight of them moving the stones irked him nonetheless.

“Stop touching over the debris,” he ordered, slightly irritated. The only outward sign of the emotion was a flicking of his doorwings, mid-level on his back. “Sentient beings lived here. It is disrespectful.”

“Ah, sorry, sir,” Trailbreaker said, embarrassed. He dropped the rock he was holding. Perceptor frowned, but obeyed the order, relinquishing his sample.

Brawn rumbled, but put the rocks down. Prowl stared at him a second longer before turning and heading further down the ravine.

**0000**

Prowl decided to cut the mission short after realizing that moving along the ridge gave them no further evidence of outside alien contact, other than their own. The settlement continued for quite some while. He couldn't comm. the Guildhorn, so he redirected Perceptor’s focus on analyzing the environment, in hopes that they could map out Autobot plans of taking advantage of the planet’s resources.

There was just something off about the idea that the planet had been left untouched, however. Prowl couldn’t shake that odd feeling. As he walked with his comrades, seeking out danger while also keeping an optic on their hushed conversations, he almost expected something to leap out at him as an obvious clue as to why Banadir had been abandoned so thoroughly.

As they progressed, they began to note odd carvings in the ravine floor. They were openings--wide enough to fit a Cybertronian if they jumped straight down--with clear signs of intelligent design.

“Cave system underneath,” Perceptor announced when they stopped to examine the dozens of openings that lined the ravine.

“Maybe that’s where the ‘Cons are,” Trailbreaker said.

“Still nothing on the radars or communication scans,” Bluestreak said. He frowned, his doorwings twitching anxiously. “I just can’t get over how quiet it is, you know? Listen. You can’t even hear wind! But all these buildings everywhere--they’re so tiny compared to us, but can you imagine creatures living here? I sure can’t. How could they have dealt with the quiet?”

“I sure could right now,” Brawn muttered. Bluestreak either didn’t catch it or ignored him, continuing to talk about his concerns.

Prowl sighed and disengaged from the conversation. He walked around the edges of the stone, circle openings. Like the surface, the dark caves beneath their pedes were still and quiet. Passing curiosity had him ponder the purpose of the subterranean network of caves, but ultimately, it was irrelevant. He urged the unit to keep moving.

“These creatures, according to the lingering records, were highly religious beings,” Perceptor said as they continued to walk. “Most of these structures and caves must have had spiritual significance.”

“Where’d we get those records from if we’ve never been here before?” Trailbreaker suddenly asked.

“Oh, passing traders, I think,” Perceptor said. He sounded detached, but Prowl heard a faint sadness in his words. “Tragic, really. All that’s left of their species has become second-hand knowledge.”

None of the others replied. Prowl considered the implications of the lament. Their own species, driven to mass diaspora across the galaxy in light of the civil war, knew the cost of time and exterior forces trying to erase their existence from the cosmos. Perhaps it time, they too would be like the masters of Banadir. They would cease to exist in all forms but rumors or lore about a species that none alive had ever witnessed themselves.

It was a depressing line of thought that Prowl had considered in some form, one way or another, over the course of the war. It did nothing beneficial dwelling on it long.

“Trailbreaker, Brawn,” he said, interrupting the silence. “Scout ahead while we do more thorough scans of the caves.”

“Yessir,” Trailbreaker said, as Brawn nodded and the two continued moving around the ravine. They disappeared around the bend soon enough. Prowl kept a sharp optic on his scanners, however, just in case.

He waited as Perceptor settled at the mouth of one of the cavern openings and scanned the interior cave system with far more sensitive instruments than Prowl or Bluestreak possessed. After a breem, Perceptor announced there was nothing other than rock and empty space below. There weren’t even additional intelligent structures.

The news was both frustrating and a relief. They were safe from a Decepticon trap, at least in that region, but part of him still refused to believe there was nothing at all. The rest of the planet was covered with steep cliffs and mountains--if there was going to be something, it would be there, in those plains and ancient river beds.

“Odd,” Perceptor said, surprising Prowl.

“What’s odd?” Bluestreak asked, also curious as he peered over Perceptor’s shoulder.

“The settlements on the ledges of the ravine seem to be in far greater states of decay, likely from external violence rather than just environmental factors,” Perceptor replied. The scientist looked like he was staring at a puzzle rather than a cave. “But these openings are the same age and appear almost pristine in comparison.”

“They are on the surface,” Prowl pointed out. Even if there had been war among the people of Banadir, the elements could do worse damage to the structures that were not protected as well as the caves.

“True,” Perceptor said, rumbling lowly. He stared at the openings, frowning. “If we had the time, I would love to examine the cave systems more closely.”

Prowl shook his helm. “We do not have that time.”

Perceptor merely sighed and stood. “I understand.”

There was a crackle over the comms., something that immediately made Prowl snap to attention.

“ _Prowl!_ ” Brawn shouted over the open comms. “ _It’s Trailbreaker! He’s--!_ ”

The message was cut off by static, likely due to Brawn entering combat. Prowl broke into a run, aiming for where the two mechs were still on his radar. They appeared to be alone, but if there was a cloaked enemy, they had to be extremely careful.

“Brawn, report!” he demanded. He let the silence over the comm. linger for just a moment longer before turning to the others in the unit. “Trailbreaker, respond!”

He, Bluestreak and Perceptor rushed down the path, carefully avoiding the large carved openings beneath them. Prowl had his pistol out, primed and ready for Decepticons.

As they turned the wide curve of the ravine, Prowl saw more black rocks jutting up from the otherwise smooth terrain. He also immediately spotted Trailbreaker on the ground, Brawn keeping his foot down firmly on the downed mech’s chassis. Trailbreaker was trying to get up, but his movements seemed disorientated, if not full of anger.

“What happened?” Prowl demanded as he, Bluestreak and Perceptor jogged up to face them. There was no other sign of a struggle or combatant.

“Sir, I don’t know! He just went berserk!” Brawn exclaimed, far more frantic than the usually gruff mech sounded. “He fell over and I thought he might have glitched, but then he just started taking swings at me!”

Prowl needed more information than that. Trailbreaker was not a violent mech, nor prone to physical conflicts with teammates. While Brawn was in fact prone to starting or participating in physical conflicts, the confusion that warred with the anger on Brawn’s faceplates gave Prowl some reassurance that this was at least not started by Brawn.

Trailbreaker’s engines were roaring, a sound harsh in the Banadiran air. Prowl could not help but notice how tense and stiff Trailbreaker’s movements were, even as he grasped Brawn’s leg and tried to shove him away. The green mech clawed at Brawn’s leg struts, making Brawn wince and push down harder. The wild look in Trailbreaker’s optics, plus his incoherency, immediately set Prowl on edge.

“Trailbreaker, stand down, immediately,” Prowl ordered, deciding that it would be best to separate the two regardless of the fight’s origins. “Why have you attacked Brawn?”

The green mech roared instead, still trying to dislodge Brawn. The heavier mini-bot held on anyway.

“Answer him, you loose-wired—!” Brawn snarled, hand going for Trailbreaker’s shoulder to shove him back.

“Sir, behind you!” Bluestreak suddenly screamed to Prowl’s side, causing the commander to whirl around in compliance.

His doorwing sensors already told him that a mech had moved in closer and Prowl had assumed it was Perceptor. When he turned, he saw that it was the scientist. However, that awareness was marred by the fact Perceptor had suddenly lunged straight for the tactician.

Prowl narrowly escaped letting Perceptor grab hold of his chassis. He sidestepped, allowing the scientist to fall nearly onto his faceplates. Perceptor let out a violent, uncharacteristic bellow of anger.

“Perceptor, what in the name of Primus are you—?!” Prowl began to ask, but the question was lost on him when he heard Trailbreaker roar behind him.

He looked up just in time to see Brawn fall to the side off of Trailbreaker, but Trailbreaker himself was still on the ground, seizing. Brawn had stumbled, making a horrendous sound before falling to his knees. He bent low, agonized by something, and Bluestreak immediately went over to help.

The moment he stepped close enough, Brawn lashed out, grabbing hold of Bluestreak’s ankle, servos sinking into the sensitive wiring. Bluestreak yelped and tried to pull back. Brawn held on, snarling something, his faceplates marred by a look of pure rage.

“Brawn, stop!” Bluestreak cried, horrified and unbalanced. “Let go!”

“Bluestreak, get back here,” Prowl ordered. Obeying in a frantic manner, Bluestreak kicked out with his other pede and caught Brawn in the helm. The minibot was sent rolling across the black dirt, his engines still revving.

All it took was once sweep of the area with his optics to realize something had happened beyond just an inner-conflict among teammates. Perceptor had remained on the ground, but was struggling to get up. His engine mirrored the angry, violent sounds coming from Trailbreaker and Brawn. All three were afflicted by painful looking spasms that only highlighted the painful yet hateful snarls coming from each. The symptoms begged for an identical cause, but what?

Prowl took several steps back, processors swirling with possibilities. Viruses made the most sense, but how could it have afflicted the entire team so quickly? Was Soundwave here? Had there been something in the ruins they hadn’t noticed?

He grabbed Bluestreak, who was staring at the others in total shock, and took cover behind one of the large boulders projecting from the ravine’s bottom.

“What’s wrong with them, sir?” Bluestreak whimpered.

“I do not know,” Prowl said. He glared over the rock and plotted out the best course to take. Bluestreak’s sniping was par to none; he could easily incapacitate the mechs from a distance. “Disable them as quickly as you can. Do not cause any unnecessary damage. Once they’re offline, we can figure out the next best decision.”

Brawn was dangerous in close-combat, given his status as a frontliner. Trailbreaker could be just as bad. Perceptor, thankfully, was still more a scientist than a scout, and could likely be taken down easily. That still did not sit well with Prowl, as he had only ever rarely given orders to take down his own squad in light of a spy or a viral attack.

Turning to look over the rock, he saw that Trailbreaker was nearly to his knees. There was a horrible sound, like gears smashing together, emanating from his frame. Prowl knew they would need a medic regardless of--

Movement next to him caused Prowl to flinch. He saw Bluestreak taking aim at the others, as still and serious as he ever was when it came to sniping out enemies. Despite his age and kind spark, Bluestreak was exceptional on the field when the time called for it.

This time, however, the sniper had stopped. He hadn’t fired, even when a near-perfect shot arose to incapacitate Trailbreaker with his back turned to them. Bluestreak, poised with his weapon, was staring out at the other mechs.

“Bluestreak?” Prowl asked, almost demanding an explanation for his hesitation.

There was an acrid scent, of wires burning. Prowl didn’t dare move, watching Bluestreak’s frame tremble and then jerk slightly forward, into the rock. His gaze never shifted from the others, as if he was staring at something besides the afflicted mechs.

Prowl watched him.

“…Bluestreak?” he tried again, apprehension and concern rising.

Turning slowly to face Prowl, Bluestreak lacked the outward rage and violence the others had. There was something there, in his faceplates, something twisting the genial ‘bot’s expression from scared to calm and then to something tinged with malice.

Prowl nevertheless saw the punch coming, the clawed servos, straight for his faceplates. He ducked, slamming his elbow into Bluestreak’s neck. He flipped the sniper, sending him sprawling across the ravine floor.

Bluestreak snarled something ugly and incomprehensible to Prowl’s audio receptors. He seemed to struggle to control his limbs like the others.

The others--Prowl turned and saw they were slowly getting to their pedes. He could see their systems were strained with the mere act of moving, but he also saw that they were gradually improving.

He made a series of calculations and it all came down to the fact that he could not possibly outpower them all, even in their strained states. If they did succeed in overpowering him, that would likely lead to him also falling prey to whatever ailed them, or to his deactivation.

Prowl fought his analysis, which dredged up as much self-hatred as it normally did when he made the call to sacrifice one life for many, but ultimately, he had no choice.

He turned and ran.

**0000**

Protocol did not have a line concerning a complete takeover of his squad by an unknown assailant, but it was clear that he had to prioritize his own life in the event of the unit’s compositional collapse. His rank and purpose was too great a thing to risk.

Still, as he ran back through the ravine, he had little to nothing more he could do than desperately call for backup.

“Prowl to the _Guildhorn_ , this is an emergency,” he said, over the comms. “Something has happened. The entirety of my crew has been incapacitated by a virus of some sort. They are acting in violent, self-destructive ways and are targeting their fellow teammates.” A re-analysis of what happened caused him to stumble mentally. “They are attacking non-infected teammates, I should say. Approach with extreme caution.”

If he could get back to where they had originally landed, perhaps he could still be picked up by the shuttle. If anything, the height of being above the ravine might give him the advantage over his subordinates.

He did not want to hurt them. He was their leader. He had to make sure they were safe. That did not fit into the reality of running from them, but Prowl could not argue with the protocol.

“Prowl to the _Guildhorn_ , we need immediate assistance at location two-five-five, nine-six—,” he began, before stopping immediately at the sight of a mech standing in the middle of the ravine. His engines revved in alarm. “Brawn!”

His shout echoed down the path, disappearing into the black stone that surrounded them. Prowl stared in disbelief at Brawn, who was just standing there on the path, still and quiet.

How had Brawn gotten past him? Staring the mini-bot, Prowl felt his processors surge with heat as he lifted his gun toward the mech in preparation of self-defense. None of his analyses made sense of the appearance.

Something was wrong.

Something was horribly wrong.

Just Brawn’s posture made alarms ring in Prowl’s processor. It was lax and loose, as compared to the tense seizing that had affected the mech just a breem ago. Prowl watched warily, his sensors blazing. He couldn’t sense any others, but he had failed to register Brawn’s approach. He trusted nothing registering on his HUD at that point. Perhaps he was being affected by the virus after all.

“ _So, you’re their leader_ ,” Brawn said. He tilted his helm.

It did not sound like him. The glyphs were wrong. Distorted. But it was still clear Standard Iaconian. Prowl stared at the mech, dissecting the short observation.

“Who are you?” he asked finally. It was clear that Brawn was being controlled; the lack of familiarity made that clear enough.

“ _You don’t seem afraid at all,_ ” Brawn said. He grinned. “ _I like you._ ”

Prowl’s systems revved and he held the gun higher. “What have you done to my team?”

He didn’t flinch when Brawn moved, slowly, to the side.

“ _And you were so clever… not disturbing the rocks_ ,” the red mini-bot said. The voice sounded so disconcerting to Prowl. It didn’t sound like a mech at all. “ _We felt you last. Though now… I claim you._ ”

“You shall not,” Prowl said, doorwings high on his back. “Release my unit from your control immediately.”

“ _Or what? You going to shoot your own friends?_ ” Brawn asked, mockingly. “Y _ou are the cold one, they said. The one who doesn’t feel the burn of emotion… the one who doesn’t love. Did you know that’s what they think of you? The tactician who sends soldiers to their deaths without an ounce of hesitation._ ”

Prowl’s optics narrowed. “You have one more chance. Release them.”

He did not want to shoot Brawn. But he would if he had to.

“ _To think, the organics who lived here caused us so many problems,_ ” Brawn said. He suddenly sounded elated. “ _You metal shells are going to be so much fun once we get off this rock!_ ”

The creature wearing Brawn was much faster than the real Brawn ever had been. Prowl could not have prepared himself for how easily and how quickly Brawn had closed the distance between them. Prowl did not fire his weapon, since he knew that the acid qualities of his ammunition would be catastrophic to Brawn’s safety if he hit him that close.

Brawn seemingly took advantage of that fact and launched himself directly at Prowl. Despite being a shorter mech, Brawn was built for war. Prowl subspaced his gun in favor of defending himself and hoping he could overpower the heavier mech.

He attempted to grab hold of Brawn’s shoulder to force him to the ground, but a hand swiped for his doorwing and he had to duck lower to avoid the contact. That only allowed Brawn to kick violently upwards with his knee, the plates colliding with Prowl’s chassis, fracturing the metal.

With a grunt, Prowl tried to put more distance between him and Brawn, but they had moved too close to the cavern openings. He tried to weave out of the way, perhaps to trip Brawn into the open pit, but Brawn was too quick for that now. Prowl, who had always been a nimble mech, could not believe the stout mini-bot was keeping up with him.

All he could think was that he didn’t want to hurt his subordinate. Whatever was happening, Prowl knew it wasn’t Brawn.

When Brawn’s fist clipped his chassis again, shattered a glass panel, Prowl felt his pede touch the edge of one of the cave openings. Panic rose. He was running out of options.

And then--

 _What a pure little soul_ , a voice somewhere next to Prowl’s audials purred.

Prowl froze for an astro-second.

 _You are losing a fight that you cannot win_ , the Voice continued. _Want some assistance, Autobot Prowl?_

He did not agree with the disembodied Voice out loud, but the primal fear of the threat of causing the deactivation of his friend must have been a positive affirmation to the Voice.

 _Step back_ , the Voice ordered.

Prowl would not have obeyed the unknown command, but Brawn suddenly launched at him. He tried to duck, but as he turned, Brawn’s hand caught his left doorwing. Pain and alarms raced across Prowl’s HUD as the warrior’s servos clenched down hard and shattered through the fragile metal.

Stumbling and blinded by agony, Prowl tried to move away. Inadvertently, he obeyed the Voice.

It just took a moment for Prowl to realize that he had stepped backwards, towards the mouth of the opening. He had not yet crossed the threshold of the gap in the ground when he felt the ancient rock give way. It was not a slow dissolution of the stone--it was as if something or someone had yanked the rocks away.

Falling, Prowl was deadweight until he slammed into what might have been a stalagmite. Pain and alarms broke out across his HUD and sensor net as he fell again, a shorter distance to the ground. He rolled, his instincts forcing him to his pedes immediately.

He swayed dangerously, due to the damage to his doorwing and back. A rupture of energon lines told him that the rocks had torn part of his back paneling open, but he was able to cut off flow to that area. The energon loss stopped, or at least, slowed considerably.

Battle computer and logic matrix racing in tandem, Prowl did an immediate sweep of the cave. He waited to see another creature or perhaps Brawn. He glanced up, where the dark skies of Banadir seemed terribly bright compared to the pitch blackness of the cave. He did not see Brawn or any other mech.

Silence returned. He did not dare move. He brought out his pistol to point at the darkness.

Nothing came for him out of that darkness. His optics readjusted for the light change and he saw a long corridor of stalagmites and other rocky projections from the cave. It was decidedly a created structure, as he could see how smooth the walls were in different locations.

 _You can relax,_ the whispering Voice said, returning suddenly right beside him. _They cannot come down here._

Prowl froze and brought up his weapon immediately, pointing at the direction of the Voice. He saw nothing on his tracker and nothing stirred in the loose gravel of the cave floor. The voice he had heard came up like a whisper, deep within the black rocks. It had been real. Someone was there.

“Reveal yourself,” he ordered, standing straight, despite his back. Energon hissed faintly as it struck the obsidian stone floor.

There was a faint chuckle in the darkness, or perhaps just in his processors.

 _If only it were that simple,_ the Voice said. _I would rather not injure you further._

Without Perceptor being in his right mind, Prowl would not be able to receive medical treatment until he got back to the _Guildhorn_. The pain from his doorwings ached tremendously, pushing him to deactivate the sensory receptors in that area. The pain was gone, but now he was severely off balanced. His hand stuck to the wall, his spark racing as he gazed around the cavernous space. There was nothing on his radar or sensors that were still online.

His optics caught notice of something beneath his hand on the wall. His optics couldn’t spot anything in the darkness, but they could easily make out the carvings in the stone. They seemed to be intelligent markings. Language.

“What are you? Are you Cybertronian?” Prowl asked the darkness. Optics scoured the stone walls and tried to discern anything beyond the alien carvings. There was something just wrong about the markings. He didn’t know what, however.

He had not expected a reply. He had definitely not expected a gentle breeze to pick up around his frame, almost like a caress. There was something in the wind, he realized.

 _I am nothing to a creature like you, Prowl,_ the Voice said, almost right into his audials.

Prowl fought a wave of nervous tension that dared to limit his hydraulic systems. “You are not the same as the creatures attacking my soldiers,” he said, more than certain. There was little tactical evidence of that assumption, but he just knew it.

 _Of course not,_ the Voice said, amusement and perhaps faint insult echoing in the words. _You don’t know anything about us, do you? You are so lucky, Prowl._

“Perhaps not so much,” the tactician replied quietly. He tried to place where the Voice was coming from, but it was impossible. He couldn’t tell where to face to speak. “What is happening? What can I do to save my team?”

 _I cannot tell you what’s happening,_ the Voice said, entirely unapologetic. _Your species was never supposed to get this close. If you survive, this will just be fuel for horror stories, never something real. Hollow whispers for legend._

The wind howled through the cave. Prowl hid a flinch.

“Please,” he said. He tried not to sound as desperate as his spark felt. It would have been easier to walk into the depths of the Pit compared to this. “You have saved me from imminent threat. Help me save my team.”

 _Why trust me? I could be worse than the_ demons _._

Prowl didn’t know what that word meant, but the Voice hissed it as if overstepping a foul curse. Prowl clenched his fists.

“I have no other options,” he said coldly. He had nothing, save death, or this.

 _You have more than I, or our precious infantile siblings, ever did_ , the Voice replied coolly.

There was too much to process in that kind of reply. Prowl briefly rebooted his HUD and optics. His systems were stressed, but he had to focus on letting his logic matrix lead his decisions.

He had to find a way to free his team. Even if he was dealing with creatures beyond Cybertronian knowledge, he knew enough that the idea of letting the creatures escape the planet using the _Guildhorn_ was unacceptable. If this was a Decepticon plot, the unknown threat of these creatures posed too great a risk for the rest of Autobot forces.

Something told Prowl that this was not a Decepticon plot. His spark pulsed uneasily at the realization that perhaps they had finally found the reason Shockwave had not chosen this planet.

He was not ignorant to the fact that this meant that he should tell the Guildhorn not to return at all. The idea of a virus had made him think that it was possible to save his teammates promptly.

If it was not a virus…

Prowl battled himself over the statistics. He was needed to assist in the war. His mechs were irreplaceable in their own ways.

But none of them were truly and totally indispensable.

Guilt--so much guilt--dragged on his spark. They were not worth the war, he told himself. Logic made it easy to believe that.

Gripping the wall, Prowl was tempted to disengage his emotion core entirely. He had to remain objective. He had to maintain his true purpose: protecting the most lives as possible.

Prowl, irrationally, wondered if he could send a final message to Jazz. It might never reach him or the _Guildhorn_ , but he dwelled on the possibility of it succeeding.

 _I have a suggestion,_ the Voice said suddenly. _You will not like it, Prowl._

Prowl considered the Voice’s hesitation. “Tell me.” At the very least, it was worth hearing the possibilities.

 _You see what the dark spirits are doing to your soldiers?_ the Voice asked, the wind blowing strongly for a moment _. I can do that too, to you. But instead of destroying your friends, I can save them._

Prowl felt something cold settle in his spark.

“…You wish to control my frame?” he asked, carefully.

 _Yes,_ the Voice said. _I was waiting for one of you to come down here earlier. I cannot say I am disappointed. Never did ride around in one of your kind before. It might be fun._

“Then why not just do it?” Prowl asked, his wariness growing exponentially.

The Voice and the wind seemed to grow agitated for just a second before settling _. I need your permission, embarrassingly enough._ They _do not._

“Thus you are different from them,” Prowl said, frowning. “What guarantee do I have that you are not worse?”

 _Nothing_ , the Voice said. It sounded amused again. _Just your judgment. I can give you nothing as proof._

The promise of aid was alluring and infinitely concerning to him. He tried to come up with better statistics of success or failure, but he had almost no data to base it on. It was beyond frustrating.

It was remiss of him to not ask further, however.

“Would you promise to leave my team unharmed?” he asked. Part of him already dreaded asking.

 _I cannot promise they will not hurt themselves, but I can get the demons out of them._ The Voice barked a laugh that blended into a crack of wind. _After all, you guys are so roomy! Your soul—tucked away like that, in one little place. At least with you fellows, I can aim a lot better._

Aim to do _what_? Prowl wondered distantly. All of it was increasingly alarming.

“If you cannot save them, you must destroy whatever threat lingers from these creatures,” he warned, his logic matrix at war with the emotion core again. “If that means deactivating all of us to prevent contamination spreading--”

 _Ye of little faith_ , the Voice said, his amusement somewhat translating his bewildering choice of language for Prowl. _No one will be dying today, cybertronian. Well, none of your lot, anyway._

No protocol encouraged him to trust the unseen creature’s promise. It was illogical to trust the Voice regardless, given that Prowl had so little evidence to suggest the being was in-fact an ally. As a commander, Prowl knew it was his duty to evaluate risks with as little emotional interjection as possible. There was more at stake than five mechs.

In the end, however, Prowl was a strategist. Strategists lost mechs, sacrificed mechs—but they also did everything they could to save them. While his life was strategically more important than a frontliner’s, Prowl also realized that at this point, trusting the Voice was the only way to preserve his own life as well.

There was no other option than this.

“Save my team,” he said. If this damned him, so be it.

_Is that your permission?_

Prowl braced himself. “Yes—”

No amount of preparation or time would have saved him from the blast of hot air upon his frame—nor the blinding light that enveloped his body, his processors and his spark.

**0000**

Awareness did not come to him as a simple, straight forward path. It was nothing like onlining after being put into stasis by a medic. It was nothing like exiting a recharge cycle. Prowl was gone and then he was there--but he was still so very, very far away.

He was outside the cave. He was walking. He was humming with energy. Oh, so much energy. He felt lighter, as if part of his frame had been left behind somewhere in the cavern. He was also whole.

Something moved his body, propelling it forward with grace and fearless ease. It controlled his optics, his processors, his sensors, and his mobility. He had no control, except the vague awareness of a spark drifting in the wake of a brighter, greater sea of power.

He could see, through a kaleidoscope of skewed focus, blurred by that energy surging through him, the wide and empty sky of Banadir. The sun remained perpetually even on the horizon, leaking reddish hues across the black stone.

In that dim light, he could see so vividly the hulking monsters that had taken his soldiers. They had gathered at the sound of his return. They were hungry and impatient.

They wanted to leave, Prowl realized through the warm haze. They wanted him to get them out. Without his authority, they could not get onto the _Guildhorn_.

Demons, the Voice had called them. Monsters. Creations of Unicron. Residents of the Pit.

The Voice, closer than ever, warmer than ever, laughed at his analysis.

He marched onward, outnumbered but fearless. What did a being like this have to fear of anything? Prowl realized. He could have walked onto the field between gestalts, to face down Megatron himself, and he still would have feared nothing.

The others--his team, somewhere still in there--had gathered and watched him approach with initial glee.

That glee faded when the Voice stopped before them.

“ _Hello_ ,” Not-Prowl, the Voice, said. His voice rang out clear and pleasant against the unpleasant landscape. “ _Fancy meeting you wretches out here, in the middle of this cosmic cesspool. The naughty little villagers must have summoned something they could not handle. How utterly unsurprising._ ”

A flicker of awareness came across Brawn’s faceplates. The others hissed. “ _No…!_ ”

The Voice remained where he was, utterly unafraid. In fact, he was content. Pleased.

“ _You aren’t supposed to be here!_ ” one of the monsters controlling Perceptor snarled. They were afraid. What were monsters afraid of?

“ _I was just passing through_ ,” the Voice said through Prowl. He grinned. The gesture was alien to the tactician’s faceplates. “ _You touched a place that fell under my star’s presence. Should have known better._ ”

The Voice was quicker than the monsters, who were quicker than mechs themselves, and Prowl felt his hands clasp the nearest screaming face with precision.

Then there was light.

It was blinding and it hurt, but it was also the most awe inspiring thing Prowl had ever felt. It was as if he stood before the Allspark in its rawest form, or before Primus himself, except he knew this was nothing like them.

The mech in his grasp dropped, but he was already grabbing another. The monsters screamed. The Voice knew they would rather flee their demise, but there was no where for them to go with the door shut--

Prowl suddenly knew where the people of Banadir had gone--it was an understanding that came from somewhere beyond his processor, beyond his logic matrix. He knew that they had worshipped what they saw as polar spirits, the righteous and the evil. They had opened a door to both, but only summoned one. Their pathway was short and only allowed just a few evil spirits to their lands, but that was more than enough to tear their civilization to shreds.

They had gathered in their last days in the good spirit’s temple, under the ground, desperate, until they wasted away.

When the last life decayed, there was nothing left for the foul spirits remaining to grab hold of. They could not leave and they did not want to--because they believed more were coming.

This was beyond _Earth_ , beyond the _Plan_ , and surely, it was worth the wait--

Prowl gasped, somewhere far away from his body, as the power came back in harshly to his frame. The Voice was booming and yet a whisper, throbbing across his borrowed body with emotions too powerful to identify.

He was standing there, somewhere inside but outside his frame, as the Voice’s power receded. Prowl could suddenly see something besides the blinding whiteness: four mechs on the ground. His team. They were unmoving. Prowl could not see their optics through all of that brightness.

“S-sir?” Bluestreak asked, vocalizer glitching, clearly damaged.

Prowl tried to reach for the mech, but he could not. The Voice felt warmer again and made a sound that might have been a laugh.

“ _All yours, Prowl_ ,” the Voice said, before letting go.

The world beneath him vanished and Prowl fell with it.

**0000**

The first thing he was aware of was the frantic pings from the _Guildhorn_ , who had heard his distress call and he had failed to respond to their answer. Prowl was on the ground, on his side. His back and doorwings were aching painfully. His sensors had overloaded and the world was fuzzy with static when his optics rerouted and he was gazing up at the skies of Banadir.

There was no gap in his memory cache. He sat up slowly. His body ached, but not in the way his back did. It was internal, like his electrical grids had all fired up at once, leaving him burnt on the inside. His internal scans came back with little damage however. That rush of power and energy he had felt moments ago with the Voice piloting his frame was just a pulsing, fading memory.

Strewn about the ground around him, his team was also struggling to get up. Prowl watched them, cautious, waiting for a sign of the monsters.

Primus had taken mercy on him, as the groans and concerned questions that soon filled the air were decidedly his mechs.

“What’s going on?” Trailbreaker moaned. He clearly attempted ot lift his hand to his helm, but his limbs hissed in protest. “What happened?”

“The ‘Cons!” Brawn gasped. He was trying to lift his chassis off the ground. “Where--?!”

Prowl, watching them, could not keep silent. “There were no Decepticons.”

“Huh?” Brawn asked, startled. The others also turned to look at him, struggling but increasingly aware of their confusing states. “Commander--?”

“Stay where you are,” Prowl ordered. He slowly got to his own pedes and realized he was in better shape than they were when it came to being able to move. “Are any of you injured?”

Negatives came back. They were roughed up and they all had a few dents, but thankfully nothing worse. Prowl was the only one with the severe injury, on his back. They were all getting more movement back, slowly, so there didn’t seem to be lasting damage.

“Sir, what happened?” Bluestreak asked, optics betraying his confused fear.

They didn’t remember? Prowl stared at them for a long moment, trying to decide what was the better response. Perhaps it was best they did not remember. Perhaps that was a blessing.

“It’s not safe here,” he said, instead of answering. He turned, feeling loose in his own frame still. He could see the cave he had fallen into, but he also saw that it was no longer a hole in the ground. There wsas a slope, made by a cave-in, or perhaps something else desiring a path out.

“We should answer the _Guildhorn_ \--” Perceptor began, sounding pained.

“Negative,” Prowl said, sharply. He turned and gave them a stern look. “Do not do anything. That is an order.”

He had to make sure they were safe before they left this place. He knew the risks now even more-so than before. He had a feeling they were free of the monsters, but he had to be very careful.

“Sir?” Bluestreak asked, perhaps even more confused at his reaction. “Where are you--?”

“I will be right back,” Prowl said, ignoring a pang of regret over having to treat them that way. He nodded at them. “Tend to each other. Do not follow me.”

He left them on the ground and headed back into the new cave opening. It was steep and he nearly slipped when distant pain tugged at his attention. Prowl heard nothing else in the slightly brighter, but still utterly empty room.

He moved closer, away from the light. He felt nothing, not even the wind.

“Are you still here?” he asked, his voice reaching and disappearing into the void.

There was silence. Then--

 _Came back for more?_ the Voice asked, sounding playful again. There was something sharper to its words, however, that made Prowl focus on caution.

“No, I came back to thank you,” Prowl said, respectfully keeping still as he gazed into the darkness. “And to see if I can find out what you are.”

There was a ripple in the air. Laughter.

 _You are so lucky, Prowl,_ the Voice said, in the same echoing whisper as before.

“You keep saying that,” Prowl murmured. His optics and radar still picked up nothing. “I still fail to see how I am.”

 _You have options,_ the Voice countered. _Maybe not a lot, but more than me. In just a blink of an eye, if I had one, my kind will be looking at a dark road. You and your hapless crew get to miss that by a couple of_ Earth years _. You will get to find the pieces after the fact._

There were alien words in the mix of Cybertronian. “What is _Earth_ ?” Prowl asked. Or _years_ , for that matter?

 _Never mind. It will not affect you. You and your species might have had a rotten start, but at least you can keep going after all that goes down._ There was a laugh, though it was more a faint breeze than anything real. _But ignore me. I am just a voice inside your head._

It was certainly more than a voice. Prowl ached to know more. How was this possible, what were those creatures, could there be more that could threaten his forces--?

“What is your name?” he asked, gazing around the empty room.

 _What makes you think I have a name?_ the Voice asked, bemused.

“All manners of creatures have names,” Prowl said.

_I am not like all manners of creatures, Prowl._

Prowl inclined his helm. “Perhaps you are not.”

There was silence in the cave. Prowl waited. He could almost feel it still, that presence, in the very air. A breem passed before the Voice spoke again.

 _My name is Balthazar._ The breeze blew harsh one moment before receding into nothing.

“What are you?” the tactician asked, cataloguing the strange name. It was full of strange sounds. An alien name. The creature had already insinuated it was not from this planet. Where, then? And how did it get to Banadir?

 _They call us_ angels, the Voice laughed, the word alien to Prowl’s processor. _I do not know a word in your language to translate that to. But they used to call us good spirits._

Prowl gazed up at the dark walls. “You are not a good spirit?”

_No. Not at all._

The cavern seemed to still again. Prowl gazed out at the invisible presence and pondered many things. He wanted to know more, but in that moment, he understood that he would not receive answers. He would have to settle for what he had been given.

“Goodbye, Balthazar,” he told the wind. He bowed his helm. “Thank you.”

 _Good luck, Prowl,_ the Voice said, whispers already fading. _You are going to need it._

Whether the well-wishes were directed at their war efforts or something else, Prowl didn’t know. He stood there for longer than he should have, waiting. He tried to imagine the exact size and nature of the being that had took control of his frame. He tried to imagine what else lurked in the shadows of the cosmos. What they had experienced on Banadir was nothing like anything they had ever seen before. It was nothing they as a species had ever heard of.

Prowl wondered if his commanders would acknowledge that once he delivered his report.

Part of him wondered if Balthazar would actually appear in his reports or not. He doubted it would matter one way or another. What was done was done.

They would not return to this place. No Autobot would. Prowl would make very sure of that through his report, at the very least.

Behind him at the mouth of the cave, he heard his squad gathering. They were agitated and worn down. He did not blame their impatience.

“Commander?” Bluestreak asked, optics bright and doorwings trembling from exhaustion.

“I am answering the _Guildhorn_ now. Prepare for evac.” Prowl let his optics wander to the stone ruins one last time before facing his abused unit. “We are leaving this place.”

**0000**

When he made his report to Ultra Magnus, the commander had been impatient with what he had dubbed miscellaneous data. That included the caves, the ruins, and the potentially supernatural nature of the planet. He was more concerned about the apparent viral attack that had nearly led him to offline his own team.

When asked how he was able to stop his troops all by himself, Prowl had been tempted to tell them Balthazar’s name. He did not. He instead pointed to his notes about the unidentified bodiless entity that assisted him. Ultra Magnus had been less than pleased with the unuseful report that the normally clear tactician had given him.

Prowl had nothing more to give, outside of a firm opinion that Banadir not be populated by Autobot soldiers. Ultra Magnus listened and Prowl could only hope he would comply.

Bluestreak claimed he didn’t remember anything. Medics cleared all of their unit members of lingering health concerns. No virus was ever detected.

Prowl let it go. He did not want to pressure his soldiers into remembering things that would unsettle them. He alone was left with the knowledge of what had attacked them. However, his knowledge was tragically limited as it was.

Research into the alien words or similar cases in Autobot records gave him nothing.

In the end, and in the wake of larger concerns for the war they were slowly losing, Prowl did not push it any further.

Still, when he was alone waiting to recharge, when he didn’t think of Jazz or various failed battle strategies that haunted him like shadows underfoot, he thought of the planet. He thought of Balthazar and his odd words, like _Earth_ and _angels_.

They meant nothing, in the end. They were all, ultimately, hollow whispers.

\---

**End “The Planet of Banadir.”**

\---

 

**Author's Note:**

> Next, Aziraphale attempts to prepare himself and their mutual Apocalypse-Stopping-Team for the reality of a post-End world. Namely, trying to survive long enough for the next disaster.
> 
>  **Terms (for non TF-fan readers):**  
>  **Praxus** \- A city-state that, in some canons, was destroyed by the Decepticons early on in the civil war. Prowl and Bluestreak are Praxian, who are mechs distinguished by “doorwings,” which are, well, what they sound like. Fanon likes to add on the idea that culturally, the doorwings also help to relay emotion through certain movements.  
>  **Primus** \- The transformers’ benevolent deity.  
>  **Unicron** \- Their malevolent deity. Considered a literal being with a physical form.  
>  **The Pit** \- A terrible place where Unicron is imprisoned.  
>  **Allspark** \- A mystical religious artifact of great importance for the transformer race. It can create life. Currently MIA, until the 2007 film, where it’s discovered on Earth.  
>  **Vorn** \- measure of time. Approximately 83 earth years. Megavorns are obviously much longer, but exact length is unclear in canon.  
>  **Orn** \- measure of time. One Cybertronian day  
>  **Breem** \- approximately 8.3 minutes.  
>  **Astro-second** \- approximately 0.273 seconds
> 
>  **A/Ns** :  
> -In case you aren’t familiar with my TF writings, Prowl is one of my fave ‘Bots to torture. Poor, poor Prowl. Just wait ‘til you get to Earth, buddy.  
> -For the transformers using contractions (we’d, I’m, they’ve, etc), this is just a representation of a different accent they have compared to the other ‘Bots. They aren’t speaking English, so there aren’t actual contractions in their sentences.  
> -Yes, mechs can be possessed. But not like humans can. You’ll see.  
> -Yes, Balthazar/other angels/demons will explain why the hell they’re just popping around the universe to other planets later.  
> -Part of what always bugged me about Supernatural was the exclusion of other worlds in their “end of the world” shenanigans. Like, if Lucifer won, did that mean only Earth got taken over or did he automatically win over other planets? Did he have to take over each one individually? I do explain later in this series why Earth was chosen as the “show-down” place to win over everything, but I was forced to reconcile the lack of explanation over what “winning” actually meant between angels and Lucifer. In this canon, other worlds do have connections to Heaven and Hell, thus angels and demons wandering other planets, but the epicenter has always been Earth. Always. (Those other worlds were very lucky, apparently.)  
> -Amended to that rant, I will reference Gabriel’s comments to Kali in _Hammer of the Gods_ where he not-so-jokingly says, “Let’s ditch this rock… and let’s go to Pandora.” So, perhaps the Apocalypse does exclude other planets. Nice plan, angels, real smart.


End file.
